There Will Your Heart Be
by iNiGmA
Summary: For Albus Dumbledore, that summer was the beginning of the end. If he had already lost it all, what was the harm, at least, of falling in love? What was there left to lose, if everything was already torn to pieces? Choosing between what is right and what is easy isn't always as simple as it seems. Even for the Greater Good.
1. It Opens at the Close

_**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter, not mine._

* * *

**There Will Your Heart Be**

_Chapter 1: It Opens at the Close_

.

He stood by the window, gazing out over the quiet serenity of the street below. Children played in the fenced in yards, spilling out onto the glistening pavement of the quiet village road. The astrantias were flourishing, dotting the street with a whole spectrum of dusty pinks and raging scarlets. A soft breeze rustled through the green canopies of the trees that dotted the edges of the lane.

It was beautiful. Pretty as a picture.

He despised it.

It was five o'clock in the evening. In ten minutes, he would walk down to the kitchen, wading through the cluttered mess of a house he had yet to put to rights (though the energy of doing so had so far evaded him). He would step to the old stove, light a fire within its grate, and start dinner. He would prepare a meal for all of them: himself; his sweet sister, whose fleeting smile seemed so fragile, it was like a band-aid tugging across the edges of her face; and his brother, who only bothered to turn up for mealtimes and seemed, for all accounts, less than useless.

He stared out across the road, burning with the ordinary of it all. His mind, which had spent the past seven years sorting through the most intricate concepts of Arithmancy and Transfiguration, brewing potions of its own invention, deciphering runes, was now reduced to managing the preparations of Shepherd's Pie and baking biscuits. The only numbers he needed to calculate now were how many ounces of butter he would need, if he increased the pie recipe by half. The only contemplations of larger concepts — how long he would waste his life away in this sleepy village.

He gripped the windowsill tightly for a moment, then turned away, the tranquil street of Godric's Hollow burned across his retinas like an afterimage. Like a remainder of all he had lost, in addition to Mother. But family came first. Tragedy had befallen them, unasked after all, and both Father and Mother had already bowed before it. He would not pass the mantle on to anyone else. It was his duty; a fact he accepted, no matter how much it stung. There was not a single person out there who could ever say that Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore shied away from responsibility.

* * *

"Here you are," he said, depositing a steaming plate in front of Ariana. "Shepherd's Pie. It doesn't look too horrific, if I do say so myself."

"It looks like goat dung."

He looked up sharply, his eyes snapping to Aberforth, who appeared to be sulking by the door. He was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed across his chest, glaring into the kitchen.

"Is that really quite necessary?" Albus said, trying to keep his voice calm as he seethed on the inside. "Forgive me, but my cooking abilities do pale slightly in comparison to some of my other — er — strengths. I assure you, however, that I am working on it. And that it tastes quite a bit better than it looks."

"That," Aberforth said, stepping further into the kitchen, "is not the point. You don't know how to cook. Fine. No one's complaining."

"You appear to be," Albus said.

Aberforth ignored him. "All I'm saying is that I can whip up a meal in minutes, which looks _and_ tastes better than this" — he gestured wildly at Ariana's plate — "whatever _this_ is. I've been cooking for Ariana for years — all the time you've been away at Hogwarts. I can take care of her just fine. Just go away and leave us be!"

"No," Albus said calmly. "That I cannot do. I am the head of this family now. You have Hogwarts to return to in the fall. And you will eat this, or you can go ahead and starve."

"Fine," Aberforth snapped, and he stormed out of the kitchen. Albus heard the front door slam moments later. Probably off to play with his precious goats. Well, he could just go ahead and have grain for dinner, Albus wasn't too fussed.

Ah, if this was what it was like to have offspring, then he would be perfectly happy to die childless and alone. Which, at this rate, was all he would be fit for. He sighed and turned to Ariana, who was staring at her plate in silence, her lip trembling.

"Go ahead," he told her gently. "It's all right, he'll be back. Just eat your dinner."

She picked up a spoon, twirling it in her hand, and let it fall back to the tabletop with a loud clatter.

"I don't like it when you fight," she whispered.

"I know," Albus said. "I'm sorry. I'll make it right with him later, all right? I promise."

She shook her head, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "It's all my fault, isn't it? It's my fault Mother is gone. It's my fault you and Bear keep fighting all the time." The tears rolled down her cheeks, leaving blazing trails of magical energy in their wake.

"Ariana," he said quickly, "it's all right. Everything is fine — it's not your fault at all. Just take a deep breath and calm down, please — "

"Of course it's my fault," she wailed, her voice rising as the tears streamed down her face in earnest. "I killed her, didn't I? I KILLED HER, ALBUS!"

Her hair began to sparkle with bright flashes of magic, rising above her head as the energy coalesced around her, forming into wind, threatening to burst through the house.

"Ariana!" he said forcefully. "You must stop this. _Stop this right now!_"

"I can't, can I?" she howled, as the wind swept through the kitchen, blowing back his plait, knocking everything off-kilter. "What's the point anyway, Albus? I ruin _everything_. You'd be better off without me!"

The stack of plates beside the sink exploded, shards of porcelain shattering all over the kitchen. In one fluid motion, Albus withdrew his wand from its holster and twirled it through the air in a blur, casting a silent Shield Charm around them both. The shards bounced off the invisible bubble surrounding them, falling to the floor.

He reached out both arms and grabbed her shoulders, staring intently into her eyes. "Listen to me," he said, keeping his voice as calm and even as he could. "That is not true at all. It was _not your fault,_ Ariana. Do you understand? It was not. Your. Fault. It was a horrible, horrible accident. And do not _ever_ say that. There is no world that would be better off without you."

She stared at him, the magical energy slowly seeping out of her, her eyes red and swollen.

"Are you sure?" she gasped. "Am I really not a burden to you, Albus?"

"Of course you aren't," he said gently. "You are both my greatest treasure and the biggest piece of my heart, Ariana. You keep me honest." He enfolded her in his arms, letting her cry softly into his robes as her hair fell limply back in place. He gave a slight flick of his wand as Ariana cried herself into silence, and the accoutrements of the kitchen righted themselves, shards flying back together to become plates once more. The remainder of the Shepherd's Pie returned to its pan from where it had splattered onto the kitchen floor.

"See?" he said softly. "No harm done."

She didn't reply. Exhausted from the magic that kept her prisoner in all her waking hours, she had allowed herself to fall blissfully into sleep. Sighing, Albus picked her up and carried her upstairs, where he gently placed her upon her bed. Stepping back, he watched as a smile — more free than any she ever allowed herself to wear when awake — flitted across her face. He hoped that in her dreams, at least, she could find some peace, some escape from the cruelties of this life.

Later, he sat alone at the rough wooden kitchen table, lost in thought as the untouched remains of Shepherd's Pie grew cold beside him. He had spent a lot of time, lately, wondering what he could make of this life as the sun rose and set around him in rhythm; each new day almost identical, as mundane as the last. He could feel his inspiration fading with every passing moment, his curiosity all but winking out. He felt like he was in limbo, waiting for something to happen.

Waiting for change.

* * *

The sun was setting, painting the world red as it went. Albus watched its rays dancing across the gravestones as it trailed to the west. Where was it going? He contemplated what part of the world it would touch next on its journey. Iceland, perhaps. Greenland. And then the Americas. Would Elphias's Grand Tour take him so far? Was he out there even now, chasing the sun?

They had not quite planned it all. Oh yes, they were to start in Egypt. The tombs. The renowned alchemists. But after that, their plans had remained uncharted. Their intentions: to simply awaken and go. Unpredictability. The very spirit of adventure. He had found the thought quite terrifying, and yet exhilarating. But alas, it was not to be. Elphias was free to explore the world, to chase all its wonders, or, as this morning's letter implied, to be chased by chimaeras. He, however, would remain here, watching that same sun rise and fall as it swung around the earth, casting its light on Godric's Hollow if only for a moment.

Snapping out of his daydreams, he cast his eyes upon the dark granite of the tombstone once more. _Kendra Dumbledore. Died, June 1st, 1899_. He traced a hand along the carving of her name, cementing the shape of the date into the makeup of who he was.

"Why?" he whispered. "Oh, Mother, why?"

_Why did you have to go and leave me with this burden?_

The unspoken question weighed on him, heavy with guilt. Anchored by resentment. He yearned, once again, for the Resurrection Stone, if only to bring her back. To return to the broken path of his life, to pick up the pieces once more. These were words he could not say, could barely admit to himself, but he understood their truth. In his heart he could not, of course, lie. But there was nothing he could do now but keep walking. He had always believed in doing the right thing, after all, even if the easy thing, the selfish thing, often flitted across his mind. But to the world, he would let his actions define him, not the inner shadows which taught him shame.

He heard an abrupt rustle, the snapping of a twig. He whirled around, his eyes widening as his breath caught in his throat. He felt his heart speed up, the rapid rhythm echoing loudly in his ears.

_Beautiful_.

The word seemed to reverberate through his whole being. For a second, he nearly forgot how to breathe.

The boy was standing several graves away, glancing at him with something akin to curiosity. The fading sun lit up the golden curls of his hair, setting them aglow. They fell softly around his face, which was hard and full of sharp angles, and yet alight with a wild abandon that seemed to draw Albus in. The ghost of a smile was dancing on his lips, and his blue eyes, layered with all the shades between ocean and sky, seemed to twinkle with a swirl of mysteries.

It would become the fulcrum, this moment — the beginning of the end for everything that Albus did not realize he held dear until it was gone. He would look back on it later, wading through a sea of regret, and curse his naivety — his heart. But in that moment, as the sun set for the last time on the final month his mother had walked upon this earth, Albus Dumbledore felt only the faintest stirrings of yearning and anticipation building within his chest. If he wasn't too refined, too altogether scholarly, he might have called them butterflies. He did not start upon his walk into the dark right then and there, within the confines of the graveyard as the sun set around them both, but he was lost the moment he looked into Gellert Grindelwald's eyes.

"Long lost lover?"

Albus started, pulling sharply out of the journey he had unknowingly embarked upon within the other boy's eyes, the question catching him entirely unaware. His voice had an accent Albus couldn't quite place — the kind that hinted of a tongue that had caressed the linguistic spectrum.

"My mother," he said, bringing himself back to reality with a slight shake of his head. "She passed, nearly a month ago now."

"I'm sorry to hear it," the boy said in an even tone. He stepped slightly closer, pushing one of his golden curls behind his ear.

"Thank you," Albus said quietly, his world still thrown off-kilter.

The boy stepped closer still, only one row of graves between them now. The sun trailed further west, night creeping upon them in blue tendrils. Casting indigo shadows upon the stone homes of the dead. It should have been sobering, all of it. The surroundings. The responsibilities, waiting just out of sight.

So why, why couldn't he still his beating heart?

"Actually," the boy said, "I did know. I apologize."

Albus tilted his head slightly, his ponytail falling upon his shoulder. "You… know?"

"About your mother," the boy clarified, casually slipping his hands in his pockets. "My great-aunt has told me about it, I'm afraid. My aunt Bathilda. Bagshot. Terrible tragedy. Well, not Bathilda, she's all right, I suppose. I'm staying with her for the moment."

"Ah," Albus said, still staring. The joke seemed in rather poor taste in light of this revelation, but somehow he could not give it weight.

The boy sauntered closer, hovering on the edge of the graves between them, mere feet away.

"She sent me to find you, in fact," the boy said. "She reckons I am friendless and alone, and, apparently, you are 'in need of lads your own age to socialize with.' And, supposedly, we are both quite clever, so we'll get on rather well. She saw you standing here from her window, you see, so she sent me along to cheer you up, I believe. If you look round, you can probably see her observing her handiwork." He smirked. "Nearly a hundred, and her eyesight is as sharp as ever."

"Ah," Albus said again, glancing toward the village, where he could indeed make out the shadow of Bathilda in her upstairs window. If he squinted well enough, he could just see her wave. He turned back to the boy, her mysterious great-nephew. "So, is that why you're here? You've come to cheer me up?" The thought sent rather a thrill through his body, but he kept his tone light and unmoved.

The boy shrugged. "I have been meaning to explore this graveyard, you see. But meeting you is perhaps an unexpected bonus." He stuck out his hand, letting it hover over the row of graves between them. "Gellert. Grindelwald."

Albus reached out and clasped it, savoring the feel of his name. It rang true, like thunder, shaking up his world. He could feel his fingers tingling from the contact. The confluence of magical energies. This boy — _Gellert_ — held it in droves.

"Albus Dumbledore," he said. "Though I do quite believe you already know."

Gellert smirked once more, holding on to his hand for just a moment more than necessary — or was that simply his imagination?

"I'm afraid so."

They let go, their fingers slipping apart. The darkness seeped from the shadows around them. Night was dawning.

"Well," Albus said, struck by a sudden, untamable desire to draw this boy closer, to hold on to him for as long as humanly possible. "Since it appears we are both friendless and alone, perhaps we should humor Bathilda. I imagine she would be rather pleased if we were to take tea and discuss our shared cleverness."

"I suppose it would be kind of me to humor my great-aunt so," Gellert agreed. "Especially since she is providing me houseroom. I have several things more to see before the sun entirely sets, but perhaps I could stop by yours later this evening, and we could learn all about each other."

"Certainly," Albus said.

Gellert smirked once more and nodded. "Until tonight then." And he turned around and slunk off into the looming darkness.

Albus drew in a breath, curbing his beating heart with force of will as he berated himself. How utterly foolish he was — standing before the gravestone of his recently departed mother, with his responsibilities weighing down on him like anchors — letting his heart run suddenly wild. But he could not tamp down his excitement. He watched Gellert's shadow pick his way among the graves. His eyes narrowed. And yet, his heart sped up.

* * *

_**A/N:** I know, I'm supposed to be writing the TP sequel. And I am! :) But in the meantime, this is __another short story written for the __Platform 9 ¾ short story contest, and it shall have 4 chapters. The theme was Blooming Love, and I've decided it was the perfect excuse to finally write the Dumblewald I think I've always wanted to write. It won a few things, so I guess it's all right. Anyway, I had so much fun exploring Albus' character, and his relationships with Gellert, Ariana, and Aberforth. Thanks so much for reading! I hope you guys like it, and please, please leave a review if you can! :)_

_And huge thanks to Animalium, who is amazing and kept inspiring me to finish this! :)_

_Rina_


	2. Mapping Out the Dark

_**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter, not mine._

* * *

_**Chapter 2:** Mapping Out the Dark_

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It was late. Ariana had long gone to bed, and Aberforth was nowhere to be found. Albus sat at the wooden kitchen table, barely containing the sort of excitement he had not felt for at least a month as he fully appreciated his present situation. Gellert was lounging casually on the chair across from him, tilting it back on two legs with wild abandon. His curls were glowing again, glinting in the glow of the soft golden orbs that lit up the kitchen. Two mugs of cold tea sat between them, half-drunk and all but forgotten.

"So they demanded I leave," he said resentfully. "Full exclusion from Durmstrang."

"Can you blame them?" Albus said. "It is forbidden."

"Things are forbidden," Gellert said passionately, "because they are not yet understood!" He banged his palm down on the table in a way that made Albus hope Ariana was sleeping soundly. He shot Gellert a sharp glance.

"Sorry," Gellert said quickly. "I forget, your sister. But alas, I was only trying to grow our collective understanding. As wizards. As _humans_. They should have been thanking me, and instead they chucked me out!"

"It was simply too much," Albus said. "Too soon, I gather. It is still considered Dark magic."

"It was only a bit of necromancy!"

Albus chuckled. "Only?"

Gellert scowled, and Albus could not help but smile himself. Even in the other's fury, he could not help but be drawn to Gellert: to his features, to his clearly sharp intellect.

"I will admit to dabbling in the subject," Albus confessed, "but only theoretically. I wrote a paper on the theory, you see, and its base connections to alchemy. Several months past. Quite fascinating." He reached for his cup and found it cold. "More tea?"

"Tea!" Gellert scoffed. "Are we two grandmas bonding over scones and crumpets? Have you any firewhisky?"

Albus smiled in spite of himself. "Certainly. Ogden's or Blishen's?"

Gellert's eyes sparkled. "Top shelf. I might like you yet, my friend. Blishen's, certainly."

Albus waved his wand, and a half-empty bottle with two tumblers soared toward them from the liquor cabinet. The bottle tipped over, pouring its contents into the glasses. He offered one to Gellert, who sniffed it with satisfaction before taking a sip of the fiery liquid. Albus took a sip from his own glass, savoring the burning sensation spreading through his chest.

"Magnifique," Gellert said, dipping into his repertoire of French — one of the five languages he spoke fluently, Albus had learned. He put down the tumbler and leaned across the table, his eyes sparkling.

"So," he continued, "tell me about your theory, Albus."

"My methods of researching were nothing quite as groundbreaking as your experiments," Albus said, lowering his own tumbler, "but I came to much the same conclusions. Necromancy simply does not work. We remain incapable of raising the dead. We _can_ bring back a body, as you have proved, but it is simply a puppet that cannot think, or feel, or act on its own. We remain incapable of reuniting the physical with the spiritual; that is, we cannot bring back a soul. There is no known magic out there, which is capable." He finished this speech rather bitterly, his thoughts drifting for a moment back to Mother. To the gnawing wish he constantly kept tamped down. _If only._

"Perhaps," Gellert sad, his blue eyes locked intently on Albus's, "that is only because we have been looking in the wrong places. In the wrong magics."

Albus felt his heart speed up once more. He flashed back to the graveyard, to Gellert's shadow flitting among the graves with purpose. _Searching_?

"The wrong magics?" he breathed, his question an invitation.

"Perhaps you are not looking deep enough," Gellert whispered. His blue eyes flickered with something familiar; something Albus had seen so often within himself. Thirst.

"How deep?" Albus said, so quietly that Gellert had to lean in to hear.

Gellert shrugged. "Six feet, I imagine," he said. And then, with a smirk, clarified: "Under."

"_I knew it_," Albus breathed, raw excitement exploding through him. "At the graveyard. You were looking for his grave, _weren't you?_ Ignotus Peverell. You _believe_!"

Gellert's face lit up in a wide smile. For a second, he almost looked mad. But it must, Albus thought, have been a trick of the light.

"Do you think," he questioned in answer, "that the Resurrection Stone can bring back a soul?"

"I believe," Albus said, nearly choking over the words in his excitement, "that on its own, it can call back only a shadow. But if you have all three, if you are Master of Death, then perhaps… _perhaps it can_."

"Well." Gellert's eyes lit up. "Then the question that remains… is how do we find them?"

It was as if lighting had struck upon the table, setting his whole world shimmering, once again, with brilliant color.

* * *

Gellert Grindelwald, he came to learn, was not only interested in Hallows. He flirted with a whole myriad of ideas which Albus found nothing less than riveting.

"Muggles," he said darkly, in the late hours of the second Friday in July, as he and Albus sat once again in the empty kitchen while the night slipped slowly away. Albus had just confessed, in painful detail, to the circumstances of Ariana's fragile condition. "It's horrible. I had known there must have been something, but never this, not in my wildest dreams."

"It is the makeup of nightmares," Albus said, his voice as dark and thick as the night. He took a fortifying gulp of firewhisky, savoring the burn it left behind. "She was only _six_." His voice broke.

"You love her."

"More than anything."

"And what of your father?"

"He will die in Azkaban," Albus said, a little bitterly.

"Do you resent that?" Gellert asked, his voice gentle, soft.

Albus paused, contemplating it. He rarely dared admit the answer, even to himself, but the firewhisky and Gellert's presence were enough to draw it from the depth of his soul.

"Sometimes," he admitted. "Sometimes. It wasn't right, to attack them, I cannot support that. Violence does _not_ solve violence. But I understand his reasons. I, too, feel the anger. The heart does not beat in blacks or whites. Oh, Gellert, what they did to her…"

He shuddered, suddenly cold despite the heat of the summer air, and tears sprang to his eyes, unbidden. He still remembered it all, the moment he had found her — drawn to the yard by their triumphant shouts. They had fled when he let the porch door slam behind him as he stood there in frozen horror. Only ten, but old enough to understand. Old enough to know that there were some scars, hidden beneath the blood and the pale skin, that did not heal on the inside, no matter how much time would pass.

He had escaped it all the following year: the trial, the speculations, the constant tears, the lingering dullness in Ariana's eyes. He had thrown himself into his studies, allowed Hogwarts to become his second chance. He felt shame for it, more often in the beginning, but less so over time as the awards and praise piled up, and his friends stopped asking: about his father, about the Muggles, about Ariana.

That shame spilled out of him now, along with with the anger for what had happened; rolling down his cheeks, blurring the golden glow of the kitchen. He heard the scrape of a chair, the sound of footsteps, and, abruptly, Gellert's arms had closed around him, pressing Albus against his chest.

"It wasn't your fault," Gellert said softly. "You did the best you could."

"I ran off to Hogwarts," Albus whispered. "I abandoned them."

"You were getting your education. What else could you have done? Nothing here would have changed if you remained."

"I could have been more present."

"You are present now."

"But I resent it," Albus whispered, the shame crashing over him. "Perhaps that is my punishment."

"No." Gellert shook his head. "You are only human. Of course your mind cannot be at peace with hiding away. You should not _have_ to hide. Neither should your sister. It is the Muggles who are wrong, Albus. Running around, hurting others, because they, like the idiots at Durmstrang, do not understand. Do not know what is good for them."

"What do you mean?" Albus whispered, drawing back slightly and raising his eyes to glance at Gellert, who did not lower his arms.

"They start wars," Gellert hissed, his voice rising in anger. "They murder each other — and for what? _They hurt little girls._" He drew in a sharp breath and then said, with conviction, "Why are _we_ hiding away from _them_? Why the Statue of Secrecy? Why do we let them dictate what we do, where we can live, _what we can be_? There is a natural order, Albus, and those with power rise to the top. We have that power… and we have a responsibility, do we not, to ensure the peace of humanity. We should overturn the Statue. Your sister should not have to hide away. _We_ should seize control, so that they cannot hurt anyone else. It is for their own good."

"For their own good," Albus whispered, the idea taking hold. Seizing power… for the greater good. _For Ariana_. It was spellbinding. "Yes." His mind swirled. This could fix it. Could fix _everything_.

But then reality crashed in, shattering it all. "But they would never listen to us."

"They would," Gellert breathed, bringing one hand to Albus' face to flick a tear off his cheek, "if we find them. The Hallows. We would be Masters of Death, Albus. Unstoppable. We could bring forth a new order." His eyes glowed, the deep blue pools shimmering with purpose.

Albus stared into those eyes, captivated, his heart speeding up. Gellert was much, much too close...

Gellert held his gaze intently, their eyes locked together. Time seemed to stop, the world turning to silence. The only thing that Albus could hear was the pounding of his heart.

Abruptly, Gellert leaned forward, until their lips touched. Shock and desire burst through Albus's whole being, but he did not have room for it. He did not have room for anything except the feel of Gellert's lips upon his own; soft and strong at once, burning like firewhisky.

Chained as he might be, it seemed he still remembered how to live.

* * *

Albus lay awake late into the night after Gellert finally left, sleep eluding him like some abstract concept he couldn't quite grasp. His mind was racing, wrestling to sort out his feelings.

_Had they really kissed?_

It was incomprehensible. It was hardly the first time he had had feelings for someone. For a man, no less. Albus had always known he was different. He had never asked for an explanation. Had never considered it worth his time to question his identity. He was who he was after all, and that was all. There had always been more important things to focus on than the subjects of his attraction. Exams. Competitions. Research. There had never been anyone who had reciprocated his affections before. He had all but resigned himself to a life of solitude. And yet Gellert had come crashing into his life, throwing everything out of balance.

And his ideas… His ideas! Overthrowing the Statue of Secrecy. Ruling over the Muggles. A new world order. They were shocking. Intriguing. Unsettling. Certainly, he was angry about what had happened to Ariana. Certainly he was bitter, resentful of his current situation. If Ariana was not a threat to the Statue, if she did not have to be hidden so completely, Albus would be free to leave, to explore the world, to seek out Hallows. Maybe even — he hardly dared to hope — build some sort of life with Gellert. A life of adventure and intellectual challenge where each day would be a gift. Where they would explore the world, building each other up along the way. If Ariana could come and go freely, they could even risk taking her to St. Mungo's. They might even be able to sort her out. It was an indescribably wonderful dream.

And yet, dominion over Muggles… It gave him pause. It was extreme. Radical. Winning over the Ministry. Overthrowing the Muggle government. Taking control. Subduing Muggles… Was it _really_ what he wanted?

But if it wasn't what he wanted, would he lose Gellert right then? Would he run off alone on his quest for Hallows? And would he, Albus, be able to return to the mundane life that Godric's Hollow had been before Gellert appeared in the graveyard? He couldn't stand it.

He rolled over onto his stomach, burying his face into his pillow as the darkness outside grew paler by degrees. Could he really get on board with Gellert's plan? Did this line up with his moral compass? He had always spoken for equality. But this was not about making Muggles second-class — this was about peace. Gellert wanted peace, did he not? This was about the greater good. This was —

A sudden cry made him freeze and bolt upright in his bed, listening. It came again, clearly audible through the silent house. He was on his feet before he made the decision to go, outside her door before he remembered moving. He pressed his ear against it, listening to the soft sound of her sobs. It broke him inside, shattered him to pieces.

He pushed her door softly open. She was sitting on her bed, her knees drawn up to her chest as her shoulders shook in suppressed sobs. She had dropped her face into her hands, perhaps in an attempt to stifle the sound.

"Ariana?" he said gently, slipping into the room.

She gasped, whirling around. He could see the traces of magic that she tried so hard to lock inside glistening on her face, bleeding out of her through her tear ducts. Glowing as they made contact with the night air.

He walked toward her slowly, carefully. "What happened?"

She shook her head, clamping her lips shut as if afraid to speak.

"Was it a nightmare?" he asked gently.

She nodded, tears still spilling down her face. He reached the bed and sat down beside her, pulling her into a gentle hug. Her hot tears spilled across his nightshirt, the magic burning holes in the fabric. A problem for later, he decided. For now, he just wanted her to know that she was not alone.

"I dreamt about it," she whispered, some time later. "They were chasing me. Holding me down. Getting closer. I couldn't run anymore. I_ couldn't run._"

He stiffened. Drew her closer. He rested his chin in the long tangle of hair, his own eyes tearing up. "You're safe," he murmured. "It's all right. They're gone. Nothing can hurt you here."

She squeezed fistfulls of his shirt. "I know."

"Does it happen often?" he asked her, later, when her tears had finally run dry and the light outside had taken on the graying hue of early morning.

"Nearly every night," she whispered, shuddering. "But then I awake and know that you and Bear are here, and… and then it's all right."

He held her tighter then, fresh anger blazing to life. The broken pieces of him fused back together, rebuilding the map of him, burying the compass somewhere his heart could not see.


	3. To Bleed as One

_**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter, not mine._

* * *

_**Chapter 3:** To Bleed as One_

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The following weeks felt like something out of a storybook. Strengthened by his steely resolve in light of Ariana's relentless nightmares, Albus allowed Gellert Grindelwald further and further into his life. His ideas had lit a spark within Albus, a perpetual flame burning for justice, fueling him forward. Shoving his doubts by the wayside.

Before long, Gellert occupied most of Albus's waking hours. In the morning, Albus would peer in the direction of Bathilda's house, hoping to spot a glimpse of him. Occasionally, he would see Gellert strolling along the graveyard, searching for a hint of a clue of the Hallows — anything they may have missed. In the afternoons, Gellert would sometimes lounge on the low fence that enclosed their backyard garden while Albus strolled along the path with Ariana, tempting her with Chocolate Frogs and Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, popping the remainder into his mouth. In the evenings, he would often sit at the scrubbed wooden kitchen table while Albus prepared dinner, distracting him with theories of necromancy, or alchemy, or the specifics of how to begin implementing their beliefs within the Ministry.

"We will have to build a following," he said on a Thursday evening near the end of July. "So we can take the Ministry."

Albus glanced back from where he was supervising the chopping of onions. "And by 'take' I gather you mean so we can be voted in?"

Gellert popped a bean into his mouth, licking the residual sugar off his lips in a way that made Albus draw in a sharp breath. "Of course." He extended the bag of beans. "Want one?"

Albus held out a hand and Gellert tossed a bean into his open palm. He slid it into his mouth and regretted it immediately.

"Agh," he managed, spitting it out. "That was vomit, Gellert."

Gellert shrugged, unable to keep the amused smirk off his face. "Sorry."

Albus turned back to the onions, directing them to the skillet, and prodded the stove until fire burst into being. Then he flourished his wand in a swirling motion. The onions began to stir themselves, crackling in the oil and suffusing the kitchen with the delicious smell of frying. He turned back to Gellert as he jabbed his wand at the flour, eggs, and water, which began to mix together behind him.

"But I do believe you're right. About the following."

"Albus?"

He glanced around. Ariana was standing by the doorway, peeking into the kitchen.

"I'm hungry," she said, "is dinner ready?"

"Nearly," Albus said. He turned back to the flour mixture, splitting it into several strings of noodles with his wand. He levitated them over to the prepared pot of boiling water and dropped them inside with a splash.

"Want an Every Flavor Bean?" Gellert asked innocently.

"No, thank you," she said. "You do not sound true."

She slipped back out of the kitchen. Gellert shrugged and tilted several of the beans into his mouth at once.

Albus was just adding the fried onions and the browned beef to the noodles when a less welcome voice cut across the kitchen.

"If you stopped hanging out all day, you would actually get dinner done on time."

"I beg your pardon?" Albus said, glancing at Aberforth, who was scowling at him from the doorway Ariana had recently vacated.

"I mean, you're starving our sister," Aberforth snapped.

"I am doing no such thing."

"You're an hour late with dinner! Stop hanging around and finish it, or leave so I can do it myself."

"That is not necessary," Albus said calmly. "Dinner is done. Help yourself."

He stalked from the kitchen, calling for Ariana, wondering if it would be frowned upon if he Transfigured his brother into a goat. If only for a brief span. It would hardly make a difference in his demeanor either way.

That night, like most nights, Gellert remained behind. They retreated to the roof, where they sat on the flat edge, their feet dangling over the sleepy village below. Albus could see Aberforth slinking away into the shadows, seemingly in the direction of Enid Smeek's farm.

"I do not understand Aberforth's fascination with goats," he said conversationally.

"Never mind him." Gellert withdrew a familiar piece of rolled-up parchment from the pocket of his trousers. "I've been thinking about your letter. The greater good. I do like the sound of that. Rather than being for the Muggles' own good, we are working towards the greater good of all humanity. Much less to oppose."

"I think so," Albus said, shifting slightly so that his frame brushed against Gellert's. "Of course, we will still meet resistance. But as I said, we should use only the force that is necessary, and no more."

"Whatever you say," Gellert said easily. "You are my moral compass in this, Albus."

"Is that so?"

"Certainly," Gellert breathed, throwing an arm around Albus, who felt a shiver run down his spine. "In our quest for Hallows, I defer to you to keep us on the just path, lest we stray on perilous ground. If — _when_ — we find the Elder Wand, I will defer to you to keep the power from driving me mad with desire."

Albus let out a soft laugh, relaxing into Gellert's hold. "Do you believe in the fairy tales, Gellert? Do you speculate the Elder Wand will make you lose your senses?"

"I do not know," Gellert said. "I do not have the Elder Wand, and yet I am already losing my senses." His hand caressed Albus's shoulder, fingers creeping down along the length of his arm. "I am already mad with desire, Albus."

In a thrill of excitement, Albus leaned over and pressed his lips to Gellert's, his heart pounding so hard and fast, he thought it might burst out of his chest. Gellert's arms had enclosed him, tightening their hold as his own hands trailed through Gellert's golden curls. They drew closer, melting together under the starlight, their lips searching for home within each other's touch. Albus was not aware of falling back onto the flatness of the roof, but he felt the hardness of it, if only for a second, before Gellert waved his wand and the asphalt became soft as a cloud.

What came next, he would carry with him always.

They lay under the stars, their fingers entwined, their limbs tangled together in the night. After a time, Albus tore his eyes away from the magnificence of the stars and cast them upon Gellert, who was watching Albus with a lazy smirk upon his face, his curls falling upon the naked rooftop with careless abandon. As Albus watched, he reached out a hand and traced it along his cheek.

"That was exquisite," Gellert whispered. "Wonderful."

Albus caught Gellert's fingers in his own, weaving them together. He did not speak, could not find words adequate enough to describe his feelings; words that felt as true and raw and powerful as what they had shared.

"We are better together," Gellert said, his voice still soft, his eyes shadowed pools of feeling that kept Albus locked in place. "We are good. Unstoppable."

"Yes," Albus breathed, finally finding his voice. This feeling — he held so much of it that it spilled out from every orifice, blanketed him like a cloak.

"They will all fall before us," Gellert continued, his hands squeezing Albus's tightly before letting go. "We will prevail. You and I, Albus, Masters of Death. We will lead the revolution."

"Masters of Death," Albus repeated, savoring the feel of the words. They brought nearly as much excitement as Gellert's lips.

"So many have tried and failed," Gellert said, "but _we_ could do it. We could succeed where others have failed… because we would never betray each other. Would never seek to take the Hallows for ourselves."

"It would be a meaningless adventure without you," Albus said. And he knew, as he spoke the words, that they were perfect and true. He may have embarked upon this quest as a solitary journey, but how meaningless would the Hallows be, now, without Gellert beside him? A conquest to revel in alone was not a conquest at all. What was glory in the face of love?

"Then let us swear," Gellert breathed, "to stand united in this journey. To never raise a hand against each other. So even if the Hallows come between us, even if we are tempted by the most wicked of magics, we will remain protected and true."

"Do you wish to make a blood pact?" The idea filled Albus with nothing but a surge of pure joy. A magic of light, of love, to tie them together in every tangible way. He yearned for it with his whole being.

"If you wish it," Gellert said.

"I do."

"Then give me your hand."

Albus turned his palm towards Gellert, who reached for his wand and traced it across the naked skin. Albus barely felt the sting. He watched the drops of blood well up, black in the moonlight. He slipped the fingers of his other hand around his own wand, bringing it, with a silent whisper, to Gellert's waiting hand. Gellert inhaled sharply as the silent incantation broke the skin, his life's blood seeping out to pool within his palm. Wordlessly, Albus reached out and grasped Gellert's hand, their fingers entwining, the blood running together.

"I will never raise my wand nor my hand against you," Albus whispered.

"Nor I. I will never fight you, Albus."

"The Hallows will never come between us."

"Never. For the greater good."

"For the greater good," Albus echoed.

He felt the magic of it swell, build into a shimmering tempest, as two glowing drops of blood rose into the air between them, fusing together, becoming one. It seemed to lift him up, to sing in his ears.

The stream of magic flowed like molten gold, shimmering around the blood, crystalizing into shape.

"I think I may love you," Albus whispered, as it swirled around them, strengthening, solidifying, tying them together. It roared in his ears so profoundly, he could not even hear Gellert as his mouth moved, forming words, intending — Albus was sure — to whisper it back.


	4. These Broken Wings

_**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter, not mine._

* * *

_**Chapter 4:** These Broken Wings_

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The Hallows; they consumed everything. The weeks fell away as they schemed, perused countless books, mapped out locations of interest. The hands of time swung between them, shepherding the turning of seasons, blowing by in sighs of cold wind.

Fall was coming.

They discussed her often; Ariana. Her freedom was among Albus's strongest motivators; a life without chains. But it did not solve the present problem. Aberforth would be returning to Hogwarts come September, leaving Ariana as Albus's sole responsibility. How would they balance their plans and their search with her relying on Albus at every turn?

"I cannot leave her," he told Gellert constantly, firm on this point. "She needs me."

"Of course, we will figure something out. Ariana is the reason we are doing this, after all."

"Perhaps Bathilda can watch her for a time," Gellert offered, several days later.

"Maybe for a few hours at a time," Albus relented, "but no more. She is delicate. She needs stability. She needs her family."

"We could take her with us," Gellert suggested, as August drew to a close.

"I don't know," Albus mused, falling into contemplations. The idea made him uncomfortable, albeit he could hardly think of a better solution. "We may have to."

"It will be all right," Gellert said, caressing Albus's fingers in the empty kitchen. "We will take care of her. Let us discuss it after your birthday."

Albus nodded, still uncertain. Gellert leaned forward, kissing him briefly. "Until tomorrow," he breathed, rising to his feet. He glanced at the clock on the way out. "Nearly midnight. Well, happy birthday then, Albus."

"It is not my birthday yet," Albus said, amused. "It is bad luck, they say, to celebrate early."

Gellert laughed. "We shall be Masters of Death, Albus. We will make our own luck."

He blew a final kiss and slipped out the door, that familiar smirk playing upon his lips, sending Albus's heart into a spiral.

The following day dawned upon them, bright and sunny.

"Happy birthday, Albus!" Ariana said lightly as she all but floated into the kitchen. "You are eighteen today."

"I am." He smiled, offering her a teacup. "For you, passion plum."

She took it delicately, nodding her thanks as she sipped at the ruby liquid. Albus watched her hair spark with magic as it cascaded around her shoulders, his face relaxing into a gentle smile. Precious Ariana. She had grown so much. Her magic was still mostly locked away inside but, watching it play amongst the golden tangles of her hair, he knew that at its heart it was full of light. Perhaps she was simply root-bound, like him, a wilting flower with no room to breathe — this house as much of a prison to her as her body to her magic. Perhaps she also yearned for new patches of sun, for new soil to grow. Perhaps keeping her locked away was not the answer at all.

"Do you think you might like to embark on an adventure?" he asked.

She glanced at him, her eyes curious above the rim of her cup. "I think I may like that. If it was proper and true."

He ruffled her hair, feeling the streams of magic brush against his hand, like the softest breaths of wind.

"Where would you like to go?" he asked.

She glanced down. "Anywhere. But somewhere Mother can still see."

He hugged her, the gesture bittersweet. "Mother can see everywhere. She is only beyond the veil, waiting. We will see her again."

And perhaps sooner, he thought, than you may believe possible.

When he walked to the sitting room slightly later, he found Aberforth leaning against the opposite wall, scowling.

"Good morning," Albus said.

"What did you mean by it?"

"A 'good morning, Albus' would do," Albus said carefully. "Or a 'happy birthday, Albus' would also suffice."

Aberforth ignored this. "What do you mean by asking her about adventure? You know she can't leave this house. You know how dangerous it would be."

Albus remained silent, gazing at Aberforth.

"You want to take her with you, don't you? To hunt for your stupid Hallows."

"It is really none of your concern," Albus said.

"Like hell, it isn't! Selfish as you are, I would have never taken you for such a fool!"

"I know what I am doing," Albus said calmly. "I have nothing but Ariana's best interests at heart."

"Sure you do," Aberforth scoffed. "Who's been spending hours and hours with her all summer, while you've been locked away with Grindelwald, doing Merlin knows what! Researching. Making grand plans. You've been neglecting her all summer!"

"I've been doing no such thing!"

"You truly don't see it?"

"What I see," Albus said, his voice rising passionately, "is a girl in a cage. Perhaps it is we who have been wrong, Aberforth. We have been locking her down, clipping her wings, when, maybe, she yearns to fly!"

"You're bloody delusional," Aberth spat.

"Maybe I am," Albus offered, flitting once again into his doubts. "Maybe I am wrong. But believe me when I say I want nothing more than a life of happiness for her. She deserves it."

"She does, but if you actually think you're going about it the right way, you are even stupider than I thought."

Aberforth turned and stalked out of the room, slamming the front door behind him. Albus sighed. Difficult as it was to entertain the concept with Aberforth, perhaps they could sit down and reasonably discuss the possibilities when he calmed down. In the end, the removal of the Statue of Secrecy would be the best thing for Ariana. Aberforth was not deluded enough to contest this point, surely.

Aberforth, however, did not return for the majority of the day.

"He will calm down, your brother," Gellert said, when he sauntered over that afternoon, his eyes glinting with a mischievous promise of birthday celebrations to come. "He is not too clever, but he is related to you so he cannot be entirely useless."

"He heard me talking to Ariana, and he thinks we are fools for trying to take her away. Perhaps he is right."

Gellert scoffed. "He is not. He is young and brash, and lacks all the finesse in the world. He is the fool."

Albus could not entirely disagree, and yet his own thoughts —- when echoed by Gellert — did not sit well within him. It was his birthday, however, so he brushed them aside.

Aberforth stalked into the kitchen halfway through dinner, his eyes blazing as he observed Albus, Gellert, and Ariana sitting around the small table with plates of stew, while a small cake hovered overhead.

"Bear!" Ariana said brightly. Her hair sparkled in excitement.

"Having a nice little party, are you?" Aberforth asked in clipped tones.

Gellert shot him a withering glance.

"Well, yes," Albus said. "It is my birthday, after all. Won't you join us?"

"Yes, eat with us!" Ariana said. "Gellert brought a cake."

Aberforth's expression softened, and he sat down beside Ariana. Relieved, Albus waved his wand at the cauldron of stew, which ladled its contents into a waiting bowl. He directed the bowl to Aberforth, who stabbed at it sullenly with his spoon.

"Good, isn't it?" Ariana asked, breaking the newfound silence.

"It's edible."

"Noted," Albus said.

"Don't you worry," Gellert said. "You shall be back at Hogwarts soon enough, so you will not have to suffer through any more of Albus's cooking."

Albus let out a forced laugh. Gellert was not one to draw circles around the erumpent in the room.

"You do find my cooking disappointing," he allowed.

"I might stay," Aberforth said shortly.

Albus swung his head around, his eyes narrowing. "Pardon me?"

"You heard me. I might stay here, watch Ariana."

"We have discussed this," Albus said, his anger flaming to life. "You will not. You have not even gotten your O.W.L.s yet. Rest assured, I am fully capable of taking care of Ariana. You will return to school."

"That's right, Goatforth," Gellert said. "Run along to school and let your big brother handle it."

"Shut up," Aberforth hissed, firing up. "My brother is a fool, and you — you — _you_ are making it worse! You, with your delusions and your schemes!"

"Stop it, both of you," Albus said. Ariana had dropped her spoon, her hands shaking slightly. "We will discuss this later! This is not the time nor place."

Gellert ignored him. "Your brother is brilliant," he snapped at Aberforth, his voice rising. "You are a pathetic fool who refuses to listen to the advice of his elders. You are only holding him back!"

"My _elders_?!" Aberforth scoffed. His hands had curled into fists along the tabletop. "You are barely a year older than me!"

"And infinitely more intelligent," Gellert said dismissively.

"Oh yeah?" Aberforth bristled, jumping to his feet. The table shook. "I've heard you talking, making your secret plans." He glared between Gellert and Albus, his eyes sliding over Ariana, who had frozen, her whole body trembling.

"You want me to go back to Hogwarts, Albus? Then you'd better give it all up now. You can't move her, she's in no fit state, no matter what you think. You can't take her with you! Wherever it is you're planning to go when you're making your clever little speeches. Trying to whip yourselves up a following!"

"What do you know, you stupid little boy?!" Gellert cried, jumping to his feet too.

"Stop!" Ariana managed. "Stop fighting!"

"Look at you," Gellert continued, ignoring Ariana. "Pathetic!"

"Gellert!" Albus said sharply. "Stop this!"

But Gellert seemed not to hear. "Don't you _understand_, your poor sister won't _have_ to be hidden away once we change everything. Once we lead the wizards out of hiding and teach the Muggles their place!"

"You're both so bloody stupid!" Aberforth spat. "Your cleverness has deluded you!" His thrust his hand in his pocket, reaching for his wand.

Gellert lauged, the sound of it filling the kitchen. "Do you plan to attack me? _ME_?"

"If it knocks some sense into you!"

"Stop!" Albus yelled as Ariana let out a wail. "Don't be a fool, Aberforth! The Restriction!"

"_Damn the Restriction_! Someone needs to knock some sense into you both! _Filipe_—"

"_Crucio!_" Gellert cried, his wand bursting into his hand like lightning.

"No!" Albus gasped, his eyes widening as Aberforth collapsed to the floor, gasping in agony. He could not process what he was seeing. He rounded on Gellert, whose face was lit up with wild abandon; the soft lips Albus so loved harder than steel. A _stranger_.

"GELLERT, STOP!" he screamed. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

"_Noo!_" Ariana wailed. "BEAR!" Her hair was glowing, its light shooting through the kitchen in bursts.

Albus was barely aware of grasping his own wand. "_Protego!_" he cried, and a shield burst between them, but the spell remained. "Gellert! Please! Stop!"

"He deserves it!" Gellert's eyes were alight with a mad glow.

"No!" Albus gasped. "No! Please! Don't hurt him! _Impedimenta_!"

Gellert stumbled back, the Cruciatus faltering.

"_Congringo_!" Aberforth gasped from where he lay twitching on the floor.

"_Incendio_!" Gellert shot back. The two spells collided above the kitchen table, exploding, showering them all with bits of burning cake.

Ariana was crying, her sobs echoing off the walls, the sound fading into the banging of colliding magics and the crackling of burning fires.

"_Glacius_!" Albus swung his wand sharply and ice swept across the kitchen, dampening the flames.

"Do you see now, Albus?" Aberforth gasped, rising to his knees. "Do you see what he is?"

"I—" Albus could not process it. His senses seemed to have left him, burned up with the cake; the pieces splattered upon the ground.

He turned to Gellert, his hand shaking. "Leave." The word cost him everything.

"Why!" Gellert snapped. "Do not listen to him, Albus! He means to destroy us, to destroy our quest. Do not forget who attacked who first!"

"Shut up!" Aberforth cried. "_Stupefy!_"

Gellert blocked the Stunner easily, then slashed his wand through the air until knives burst forth, shooting at Aberforth. Albus threw another "_Protego_!" between them, gasping, his world shattering to pieces over and over again. He whirled to face Gellert, wand raised.

Gellert's eyes flashed, if only for a moment. "Go ahead," he whispered. "Do it."

Albus hesitated. His hand shook.

"_Diffindo_!" Aberforth cried, from behind Albus. Gashes appeared on Gellert's face and cheeks with a bright flash of red. His eyes blazed, burning with raw anger.

"_Avada—_"

"No!" Albus gasped, before he could get out the words. "_Bombarda!_"

"_Confringo_!" Aberforth shouted from behind Albus.

The spells shot at Gellert, collided, burst.

There was a tumultuous swell of magic, tugging at the very fabric of the room, swirling around them like a tempest, sparking with color. _It felt familiar._ He saw a flash of golden curls, swinging through the room. _He remembered Gellert's lips, moving toward his own._ He heard the softest sounds of footsteps, barely audible over the roar in his ears. The magic grew, pulling at him. It was forming before them, glowing gold, coalescing. _For a moment, he tasted firewhisky._ A small hand gripped his arm, bringing him back to reality. He saw her eyes, tears falling freely as she leapt between them. The smallest of shields. Her frame lighter than air.

The magics drew together, blending around a small, scarlet dot that had winked into existence in the center of the room. It seemed to pull all the magic in as the wind bathed them all, glowing, growing larger. And suddenly, the stream of magic rebounded back at Albus with a resounding roar.

He understood in that moment, as he grappled for a protection spell that was much too late.

The blood pact.

He could not attack Gellert.

_He was a fool._

The magic washed over him with the fury of a storm, ripping the half finished Protego from his lips. A tangle of golden curls swept gently across his cheek as he flew backward, until his head found solid ground and he knew no more.

When he pulled himself out of the dark to to find the shattered remains of the kitchen, the world was all but over.

He found the end in the sharp angles her body made, where it lay broken amidst the fractured kitchen tiles. Her eyes still and empty. The light gone.

He found it in the way Aberforth looked at him, eyes blurred with so many tears they nearly lost their color as he sobbed upon the floor, Ariana's lifeless body cradled in his arms. Her tangled curls spilled limply over his hands. Dull without the magic that had once brought them to life.

"You are so clever," he had choked out. "So clever. And yet so bloody stupid."

And he found it in the empty space that remained where Gellert had stood, before he became a stranger.

As if he had never been there at all.

* * *

The days that followed blurred together, blending into an ocean of tears so deep he feared he would drown. Saying goodbye. Putting the light of her in the dark, cold ground; when she wanted nothing more than to be free.

He hoped that now, at least, she would fly. Unbroken.

He found himself before the familiar tombstone once more as the sun set again. Kendra and Ariana, resting side by side for all eternity. She had seen Mother sooner than she had expected after all. Sooner than he could bear to think.

He raised his wand with a shaking hand, inscribing words upon the stone beneath the names that stabbed him with guilt. With shame. With grief.

_Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also._

He had left his heart behind; buried with her in the cool, dark earth. He had loved Gellert. And she had paid for it. Had died for it. How could it be, that love brought so much pain?

He turned, walking away as the scarlet, ruby sky hung down upon his shoulders.

Perhaps it would be for the greater good, if he never loved again.

.

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_**A/N:** Thank you so much for reading! And especially for the sweet reviews! __This is a sad story, but I think we all knew how it would end, after all. So __I hope you guys enjoyed going on this journey with Albus. I definitely did. Making all the canon things fit into this story was one of the most fun parts for me. Please do leave a review if you can! And feel free to check out some of my other stuff if you want. _

_**Update July 2019:** There is a sequel of sorts to this story on my profile called **There Will Your Hallows Lie**. It's a bit of an outtake and takes place between chapters 3 and 4 of this story. If you guys are interested! :)_

_Rina_


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